


Maybe it's You

by iammisscullen



Series: My Zarry Alphabet [2]
Category: One Direction
Genre: AU, Army!Harry, Fluff, M/M, My own version of Zarry Alphabet, idk how to tag, supposed to be a drabble, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn never liked the water, just looking at it makes him feel like he’s about to drown. And it’s ironic how he’s living near the sea. A curly haired boy with green eyes might have something to do about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe it's You

**Author's Note:**

> This is very short (and may have lots of mistakes because no one beta-ed it but me) because I wanted to do some Zarry Alphabet Drabbles but ended up writing long. Poor plotted. Anyways, hope you like it.

_B is for BEACH_

 

_**_

And missing you got so bad

that falling to sleep each night

felt like I was readying myself for war.

 

 **-Beau Taplin** // _The veteran_

_**_

 

Zayn never liked the water, just looking at it makes him feel like he’s about to drown. And it’s ironic how he’s living near the sea. A curly haired boy with green eyes might have something to do about this.

Remember how people love to romanticised living by the sea? Well, they’re all stupid and haven’t lived near the sea because if you have, in Zayn’s opinion, you will loathe it in the long run. Zayn does, or so he pretends to be just to annoy his boyfriend sometimes.

The crash of the waves that should be _calming_ according to most people – they’re mostly the ones who have never stayed far too long in a rickety house that creaks at every step, and smells like wood and salt – is nothing but a sound of torture for Zayn.

But besides the smell of fish that makes Zayn nose cringe, it’s the amount of sand inside the house that’s driving him mad. There’s always those white powder everywhere; in the kitchen, in the loo, in the bedroom, in the old attic, in the dining room, even behind the bookshelves.

Worst case is that, Zayn knows – of course he does – where those sand come from.

‘Harry,’ he yells at the boy brushing his teeth by the sink. Green eyes stares back at him innocently. Zayn looks away, afraid he won’t be able to say what he has in mind if he looks too deep into those green orbs. ‘I told you to wash your feet before you get in, right?’

Harry nods like it’s not a rhetoric question.

‘Then why is there sand on the coffee table again?’ he barks. Harry looks guilty, of course he is. ‘I can’t believe you,’ Zayn snaps. ‘Why can’t you just al least respect this little rule? I gave up on the big city flat, right? Why can’t you compromise with me?’

He didn’t wait for Harry to reply, but Zayn did see the pain in his boyfriend’s eyes before he storms out of the room.

**

The house feels empty, too clean that it hurts too even look at it. Zayn has done a lot of cleaning for the last two weeks to keep him occupied. He dusted off everything till it’s almost shiny – if the ancient cabin can still be.

And maybe the absence of those tiny fragments is what feels so heavy inside his skin and marrow.

Harry’s been assigned to Vietnam, a month ago, and Zayn’s been living all by himself in their old house by the beach with the wind blowing so loudly at night that it lulls him to sleep; it’s a better sound than the silence of his broken heart.

He goes to the beach every morning, just before the sun rises – mainly because he can’t sleep much after 4 in the morning, bed feeling too cold and too big that the sheets drown him. So, he goes to the beach as much as he hates it – hates the sand getting into his eyes, his mouth, his nose, almost everywhere.

Harry’s the one who loves to go to the beach like a kid on a theme park. He loves to feel the sand between his toes because it relaxes him. And if Harry’s there, he’d probably laugh at Zayn trying not to freak out about how itchy the sand feels against his skin.

Zayn thinks he might be allergic to sand and anything else to do with the sea.

**

He parks the car in the garage and picks up the grocery on the boot. Another day is about to pass, another day to miss Harry and his stupid smile that Zayn thinks would be synonyms to _the stars that fills the night sky_.

Zayn unlocks the door, removes his DM’s just to avoid getting sand on his newly swept floor. He places his keys on the table by the door and brings his grocery to the kitchen.

He’s about to open the fridge when something catches his eyes.

Sand!

Not just a pinch of it but a handful, trailing on his wooden floors like a treasure map.

 _What the fuck?!_ he thinks. And he freezes, realising that this might be _CSI_ waiting to happen. Another thing registers in his mind: Someone has been to his home.

Could he still be there? Is he alone? What does he want?

So many things races into his brain and the last one makes his knees go weak: _Will he kill me?_

There’s been that incident on the next town about this kind of scenario and the old woman, whose house had been robbed, was shot dead.

Maybe he’s been watching too much _CSI_ indeed because he should have gone back to his car and run to a police station. But that will also be unwise because what if it’s just a stray cat again like the one’s Harry adopted two months ago before Buttercup, the cat, was found by her owner.

Maybe he shouldn’t freak out. He gets an empty bottle of Moet, the last one he and Harry was drinking weeks ago for their 3rd anniversary.

He slowly follows the trail of sand and hears footstep by the living room, and it’s heading to the kitchen – to where he is. He readies his weapon, lifts it high to make good impact on the intruder. And when the stranger closes, Zayn swings his bottle and hits the intruder before he can even step in the kitchen.

‘Fuck!’ screams a familiar voice that had Zayn immobile, follows it is a whimpering sound of pain and someone falling on the floor – which probably is Harry. And more profanities.

‘Harry?’ The incredulity is clear in Zayn’s voice as Harry whimpers more. ‘Holy shit!’ Zayn finally is able to grasp the reality that Harry is on the floor and hurt. ‘Holy shit! What the fuck?’

‘This is how you greet me now?’ Harry asks, nursing his swollen right cheekbone. Zayn’s on his knees beside him, helping him on a sitting position. ‘Fuck! And you really meant to kill.’

‘I’m sorry, babe,’ Zayn says, one arm wounding around Harry’s waist to support him. ‘I thought you were an intruder.’

‘I think you need to stop watching _Criminal Minds_ ,’ Harry says with a small smile as their eyes lock.

How many days has Zayn dreamt of those green eyes? How many days has he searched for the warmth that’s beside him at the moment?

‘I’m really sorry,’ he says, tightening his grip on Harry as if he’s going to slip under his fingertips like water. And he sniffs in the scent that is Harry, it clears his head. Harry is newly showered; he can feel his wet hair against his temple where they’re leaning close to each other.

‘I miss you,’ Harry whispers like it’s a secret.

‘I miss you too,’ Zayn replies like it’s a secret as well because he’s scared that if someone hears it, they’re going to get jealous and take Harry away again.

‘So much,’ Harry adds and kisses his temple.

And that’s enough to calm Zayn’s fretting heart.

But what if they send Harry off again – send him on a mission in Iran or Israel or Russia? Zayn can’t take that. He can’t take the nightmares of receiving grieve news about Harry. Or worst a yellow paper brought by some unknown soldier to tell him that Harry’s not coming back.

‘You don’t have to worry anymore,’ Harry says like he can read Zayn’s mind as he always do. ‘I’m not going back.’

The storm disappears inside of Zayn, something wonderful settles. The smile on his face says it all as he bids adieu to the worries of the past that is never coming back to haunt him when he’s alone.

He groans mockingly. ‘More sand to clean.’

Harry laughs, loud and bright, filling every corner of the ancient home with light that the sun haven’t been able to take away in the last weeks. And Zayn missed that sound. So much.

‘I love you too, Malik,’ Harry says and kisses Zayn.

The sand will be back inside the house again and that’s okay. He doesn’t mind cleaning it up or telling Harry off for trailing them on the carpet, on the kitchen floor, on the coffee table. He can take that, what he can’t take is Harry going away again.

 

  _Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill! :) xoxo


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